


Day Twenty-Six: Gazing into Each Other's Eyes (AKA How Long To Say I Love You)

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [26]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Pets, The Beginning of the Future, a bit fluffy, settling in, the aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How long does it take to find out you have it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Twenty-Six: Gazing into Each Other's Eyes (AKA How Long To Say I Love You)

**Author's Note:**

> :D I love you all, every single one of you.

Two months.

They were still on mandatory leave from MI6, and making good use of that time.

Q sprawled on Bond's bed, moaning and writhing under his boyfriend's mouth, hands gripping soft hair tightly as the agent took him apart, bit by hot little tingly bit, until he panted out his defeat.

“Oh, fucking _hell_ , James, love...” His hands spasmed as sparks flickered in his vision, and Bond swallowed around his cock, making him keen in lust-soaked pleasure. It only took a couple more swipes of Bond’s tongue along the underside and another wiggle of the three fingers pressed inside him before Q shook apart, gasping and arching, coming hard down his agent’s throat. James followed only a couple minutes later, shuddering against the hacker's thigh as he stroked himself to completion.

Afterward they came back down from the stars, Bond laid his head on Q’s stomach and lightly stroked the angry red scar on his side, mouthing apology after apology into the skin next to Q’s navel.

Two months since Tel Aviv.

_How long does it take to get used to someone not leaving you behind?_

  
  
  
  


Three months and two days.

The firing range was busy today. Bond signed himself and Alec in, hauling the bag of ammunition and guns up onto his shoulder and walking down the line to the middle stall. His friend set up in the next one to his right. They readied everything in relative silence, ear protection on and glasses perched on noses. In addition to their personal sidearms - Alec’s Glock and James’ Walther - they had a couple new Berettas and a bastardised Browning that R and D wanted them to test out. Once the guns were laid out and magazines loaded with the range rounds, Bond stepped back and turned to Alec, flicking his hand in a signal to take off the ear protectors.

“Something wrong?”

James smiled, something he was doing a lot more of, lately. _Feels good._ “Your situational awareness is getting spotty. Far end of the row, behind me.”

Alec tilted his head slightly so he could look over Bond’s shoulder, and a grin lit up his face. “By God, I think you’re right. When the hell did he come back?”

“I think Eve said about three weeks ago, while you were in Turkey and I was still fighting with Psych. She said he just swanned in and took over from R as pretty as you please.” James fiddled with the magazine in his hands. “You know this is my last competency test before I’m back to active duty.”

“And we’ll be glad to have you back.” Alec pulled on the muff of his ear protection to adjust it, making busy work for his hand.

James’ face turned solemn and dark. “The shrinks think I won’t be able to work well with him because I think that he won’t be able to do his job without having flashbacks.”

The silence stretched between the two men.

Then Bond couldn’t hold the expression anymore, crumbling into a cackling mess, Alec joining him in his mirth. Other agents stopped firing and stared at the two huge assassins in complete disbelief as the men laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

“Are -” Alec gasped for air “-are you fucking kidding me? They actually fucking _said_ that?”

James panted, a wide grin plastered on his face. “I laughed in their faces and walked out. I really can not even deal with those quacks anymore!” His laughter slowed into chortles. “Oh, I wanted to blow their office up, I really did, but it was worth the looks on their faces when I told them that if I could take orders from him in the bedroom, I can take orders from him in the field.”

“Oh my fucking God, you didn’t!” Alec stared at him in awe. “You actually told them you are sleeping with him?”

“No, he told them that we are fucking and dating and thinking about adopting parrots. They think he’s insane now. And are they really worried about you not taking me seriously anymore?”

The two men turned to Q, who’d walked over to them and now stood with both hands fisted on his hips.

“Sort of, yes.” James shrugged. “Idiots.”

Alec shook his head. “Parrots. You do realise parrots can live for decades, right? And someone actually has to be home to feed them.”

“Ah, they’ll just have the run of Q’s flat.” James flapped his hand at Alec. “Either that or little ferrets. Or cats.”

“Why not dogs?”

Q rolled his eyes. “I don’t do dogs. If you want a dog, Alec, you will have to get one yourself.”

“I just might!” Alec huffed indignantly. “Who doesn’t love the little puppies?”

The Quartermaster scrunched up his nose. “Dogs. Bleh.”

“They are loyal, eager to please, and genuinely adore the fact you exist on this earth near them.”

Q snorted. "You just discribed James. Why do I need another one of him?"

James laughed. “So?”

“Cats sleep all day so they can stay up all night to plot your demise.”

“So do I.” Q smirked. “It’s a match made in Heaven.”

James swallowed a snort. “Or Hell. Take your pick.”

Alec shook his head. “And what’s with parrots?”

Q flicked his fingers over his own pair of shooting glasses. “I can teach them to fetch things for me and be alarms.”

“Dogs, Q. Dogs can do that.”

“But they can’t cuss someone out in Russian.” James wrapped a hand around Q’s shoulders and bent down, brushing his lips over the hacker’s in a ghost of a kiss. Q hummed at him and licked his nose, surprising the agent into a bark of laughter. Alec shook his head again and smiled at them.

“Get a bloody room, lovebirds.” He stepped forward into his lane and slipped his ear protection back on. “I’m shooting up this place.”

James nodded, and Q cocked his head. “Tell me how those Berettas work out for you, Alec.”

“What about the Browning?” Alec slotted the first clip into the butt of his Glock as James set up his own guns.

“I wouldn’t hold too much hope for that one. Just make sure it doesn’t blow up in your face on the first round.” Q walked away. Alec watched him warily, then turned to James.

“Um, is he serious right now?”

Bond pressed his lips together into a line and squinted. “I hope not. Too early to go back to Medical.”

_How long does it take to realise that you are no longer alone?_

  
  
  
  
  


Four months, twelve days, and two minutes, now.

Bond walks into his flat to find Q sprawled in front of his television, trying to hook up something...”What the hell is that?”

“I’m beta testing a new gaming system.” Q rolled onto his back and sighed. “Your telly is being a right bitch. I’m going to get you a new one.”

James chuckled. “I think I can afford to get it myself.” He knelt down on the carpet and kissed him. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Chinese?” The hopeful look on the man’s face overrode the grumbling complaints of James’ over-cultured stomach.

“Yeah. Chinese sounds good.”

_How long does it take to get used to having someone to come home to?_   
  
  
  
  


Four months, twelve days, four hours and three and a half minutes finds Bond on his back, Q buried inside him and thrusting hard while mouthing at the inside of the agent’s knee.

“Oh, _fu- fuck, Q_. God, you are gorgeous, _fuck_ me, fuck, _harder!_ ” Bond buried fingers into the pillows behind him, straining and rolling his hips in counterpoint to Q’s snapping thrusts. The sounds of skin hitting skin were debauched and filthy, just the way they liked it. They both were damp with sweat and somehow they had broken their ‘no food in bed, that turned out odd and sticky’ rule because Bond had duck sauce on his chest and Q leaned forward to run his tongue up the middle, humming and groaning as the angle of his prick shifted inside of Bond. The slight change had James bucking hard under the hacker. “Fuck, _shit, oh,_ brilliant! Oh, I love you, _I love you, Evan_. I love you so much...” His hands scrabbled forward to scratch faint rosy marks down the sharp lines and new muscle of Q’s back, muscle Bond had been putting there in sessions of fight training and weapons proficiency training - not guns, but knives and one memorable encounter with a bo staff that he still had the bruise from.  _Fuck, Q’s strong when he wants to be..._ \- He’s jolted from his thoughts when Q’s cock dragged over his prostate again and made his brain stutter-stop. “Oh God! Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , you are _beautiful_ , gorgeous, _golden_ fucking...” He moaned, losing his words as his mind shut down.

Q pushed Bond’s legs further back towards his chest and leaned up to look right into his eyes. “James, you have...” He growled deep in his chest at the angle change, “...you have the most _amazing_ eyes, you are so amazing...” He pressed down further and latched onto James’ mouth, licking into the heat as his arms bracketed James’ head on the bed. “Oh, you are so perfect. You are _mine, all mine_...” He quivered against Bond’s body, mewling into his mouth. “I love you too.” His thrusts became less controlled, harder, faster as he lost himself. Bond smiled against Q’s red lips and pulled his head away and down to nip at the man’s neck.

“God!” Q jerked hard against Bond. “ _Fuck..._ ”

“Come for me, please,” Bond growled against Q’s skin. “Evan, _please_ , I want you to come in me, Fucking do it, fuck me hard and _come in me_. Make me yours.”

Q whined and dropped his head against Bond’s collarbone and let go, his body shaking and driving in even harder, his hips snapping against James’ arse and his hands fisting into the bedsheets. “James, oh _lovely_ , James, I’m close, _fuck_...” His green eyes snapped shut on an utterly ragged groan as he stuttered to a halt, his prick pulsing as his body quivered in orgasm. Bond chased his own, the throbbing deep in his loins flaring up when Q licked and bit down hard on his trapezius muscle. He stroked his grip from Q’s back to his wrists, and threw his head back as the hacker started rocking his hips again, his still-quite-hard cock sliding against Bond’s prostate. A hand on Bond’s cock, stroking in time with the rocking, was all he needed to finally follow the sparking flames of his pleasure over the edge into oblivion, this darkness much more inviting and warm than the ones signalling his death.

_How long does it take to realise that someone loves you too much to let you go, even though it could mean their own death?_

  
  
  
  
  


Seven months, sixteen days, thirteen hours, fifty-seven minutes and twenty-six seconds after Tel Aviv, James Bond died again.

It really wasn’t his fault. He’d done everything he could, and that was that. He’d planned for every eventuality. He had all the intel. But as he stared down the barrel of the gun in the self-proclaimed King of Sardinia’s hand, he couldn’t help but wonder why it had gone wrong this time.

 _Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it._ He blinked back the sweat and blood in his eyes, staring hard into Gavino Moretti’s dark brown eyes. “Go ahead and pull the fucking trigger, Gavino. It’s not going to change a thing. Your time is over.”

“And so is yours, Mr. Bond.”

_I’m sorry, Evan._

He watched the man’s finger tighten on the trigger, and fancied he could see the bullet in the chamber, fancied he could see the bullet that was going to bury itself between his eyes. He was going to be killed trussed up on a fucking wooden chair like a damned Christmas goose. _Damn it. Fuck it._ He didn’t close his eyes.

**_CRACK!_ **

It took a moment, a long moment, to realise that he was still awake. He was still alive. He dropped his head down to look at the corpse of the King of Sardinia. He swallowed. “Well. That’s unexpected.” He looked back up, expecting to see one of Gavino’s bodyguards or someone from MI6.

Well, it was definitely _someone_ from MI6, alright.

It took another long moment - _funny, how the brain refuses to accept that you are still alive once it’s convinced you are going to die_ \- to process who, exactly, stood in the doorway, holding an SA80 and looking very smugly satisfied with the proceedings.

"That worked. Brilliant. I'll have to commission at least ten of these lovely things, James."

When his brain finally caught up with his eyes, his heart thumped hard against his ribs, his stomach tried out for the gymnastics team, his toes got all tingly, and he could not be held accountable for the strangled squawk that escaped his abused throat. “What the absolute _flying_ fuck are you doing here, you crazy _fucking bastard!_ ”

The Quartermaster lifted the strap up over his head and set the stock on one cocked hip, hand wrapped around the pistol grip. That image, paired with the solid black combat suit that looked fucking amazing on his body, the sweaty and slightly grimy pale skin and wild rat’s nest that he called a hair style, and those godawfully brilliant glasses...

Bond was suddenly harder than he’d ever been in his life. Ever.

Q smirked and winked. “Figured you might want to see this one in action, lovely.” He walked over and pulled out a small blade to cut Bond loose. The hands were first, and Bond rolled his shoulders to ease the ache in the overstretched joints. “I’ve reworked all of it, and now it can fire those uranium bullets R is so fond of.” He knelt down to get to the agent’s ankles. “How does Miami sound?”

Bond blinked, not understanding. “Miami? What about Miami?”

Q huffed. “Love, you’ve been on seven missions in a row in the last two months, and two of those had you in Medical for a week. You need a vacation.” He held up one finger when Bond drew breath to argue. “And I’m coming with, because the latest cybernetic attack against the SIS had me up for an entire week, standing at my console or sitting at my console. I have gone completely mental. Completely. According to Eve, I was speaking in Tongues near the end, and it wasn’t because of the Red Bull.” He grinned. “I slept on the plane ride here.”  
  
Bond shook his head. “Still not answering my question. _Why_ are you here?”

“To kill you, Bond.”  
  
Instead of letting the shock and adrenalin and the little voice in the back of his mind that was screeching 'I TOLD YOU SO I TOLD YOU SO YOU FUCKER' take over, Bond simply waited for the explanation.

Q nodded. “They wouldn’t accept my proposition to have you on a two week vacation. So...you are officially dead again. I just have to call M and tell him the sad news.”

“You have got to be kid-”  
  
“I’ve got your obituary already filled out, actually. It’s lovely. You served your country with distinction, once again, Commander Bond.” Q smirked. “Not that M’s going to fall for it, but it’s worth a shot. Besides, Miami’s lovely this time of year. Not too many tourists, and the water is just warm enough to swim in.” He placed his hands on Bond’s knees and looked up at him. “And I’ve rented a little bungalow that we can share. If we aren’t swimming or drinking, I’m going to keep you in bed and make sure neither of us will be able to sit for a week after we come back.”

Bond’s cock twitched as he stared into Q’s darkened emerald eyes, seeing the promise there.

“Will the little purple Bullet make an appearance?”

“Packed and on the plane already, along with my supply of Xanax and vodka. Along with some other goodies.”

“Did you get the good Scotch?”

Q snorted. “Do I get anything different?”

Bond surged forward and pressed his forehead against Q’s, not looking away from those eyes as he pressed his mouth to Q's lips and pressed one bloody hand to the hard prick in Q's trousers. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, then.”

_How long does it take to get used to being in love?_

  
  
  
  
  
  


Nine months, sixteen days, four hours, seventeen minutes, fourteen seconds and a random amount of milliseconds now, since Tel Aviv.

Since they died, he and Q, died in each other’s arms.

Since they’d been reborn into something else, into something different. Something better. Or worse, depending which side you were looking from.

“I have work to do. Why are you drinking my Scotch?” M looked up from his paperwork to stare at the haggard-looking agent.

“Sam is driving me to drink, Mallory.” Bond took another sip. “He is going to be the death of me.”  
  
“Deal with it.”

“I can’t! The noise, the constant annoying bursts of energy, the mess...”

“That’s what happens when you have children, James. Look at it like a mission.”

“Gareth, I can’t shoot my parrot. Evan would have my head on a platter.” Bond sighed. “Why can’t Sam be like Castiel and Dean? They are quiet, reserved, and don’t peck me every time I walk past their perch.”

“Possibly because they are too enamored with each other to deal with you.” M set down his pen. “And you two actually named your birds after characters off of an American drama show?”

“It was either that, or name them after Greek tragedy characters.”

“Are you two mental?”

“Or old drill sergeants of mine and Alec’s. Oh, speaking of that son of a bitch, where is he, because his fucking dog tore up my best pair of brogues, and I’m going to roast her on a spit for dinner tonight, then he is going to get me a new pair.”

M shook his head sadly. “Can you just go away and leave me the hell alone, 007, before I strangle you? I did not ask to be the person you vent to about your newfound domesticity.” He felt like dropping his head through the ink blotter. “And how the hell did two of our most deadly and efficient agents become homebodies?”

Bond snorted. “Hardly homebodies, sir. Just...” He sighed and looked out of the window. “Finally beginning to see a reason for it all.”

Nine months, sixteen days, four hours, seventeen minutes, fourteen seconds and a random amount of milliseconds after Tel Aviv, James Bond realised he could have this life, and his new life too. He could have it all. It might take a while longer before it would stop feeling wrong, but at least it sank in _that this was his life, now._

_Took me long enough._


End file.
